


A Dog's Tale

by Darklady



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:45:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darklady/pseuds/Darklady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avengers. Dogs. What more do I need to say?<br/>Other than - check your insulin levels before reading.</p><p>Flash-fic. Inspired by and dedicated to pipistrelle, for her story **if we can't save the earth**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pipistrelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipistrelle/gifts).
  * Inspired by [if we can't save the earth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/572258) by [pipistrelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipistrelle/pseuds/pipistrelle). 



> Not canon (Marvel or pipistrelle) and no infringement or imposition intended. Offered in the spirit of fannish appreciation. (I hope you enjoy. If not, let me know and I will remove it. *smile*)

So. The SHIELD support team had arrived, supplemented by several heavy trucks crewed by FSB. They had made it safely to the Человеческий Научно-исследовательский институт Повышения. Black Widow had even convinced Hawkeye to leave the dogs with the eager crew of veterinarians and have his injuries looked at by one of the more human-specialized doctors. All was going on schedule and according to plan. [At least by SHIELD’s rather flexible definition of ‘schedule’ and ‘plan’.] And then? And then some idiot had to use the word ‘necropsy’.

They used it in English. They used it in the same sentence as the word ‘dog’. Worse – they used it where CLINT BARTON could hear it. And OK, so the guilty researchers were two rooms away. That didn’t mean they were out of the range of Hawkeye’s Tony-Stark designed/ multi-frequency/ omni-directional/ algorithmically-assisted hearing aids. [And really – hadn’t they been warned that nothing was out of Hawkeye’s range? Did they think that only meant arrows? Were they too stupid to be allowed to keep their PhD’s?]

What happened next? Well, what did anyone think would happen? And yes, the FSB would probably have been able to take down Hawkeye. Eventually. Also the Black Widow, who was sitting behind the scientists and officially wasn’t joining the debate. [But really – was anyone stupid enough to think she would let them shoot her partner? Anyone other than Doctor Moron, who was still babbling about the need to dissect one of the animals.] Tactically speaking? Well, the Lieutenant General was fairly certain his troops could take down a metathreat– eventually. Because they had. [He wasn’t assigned here for his good looks. He’d sent troops against Red Room agents before, and he was still around.] He also knew – from experience – just how many of his men he would lose in that fight. For thirty million? [Five million a dog for each surviving dog.] The fight was – in a double sense – not worth it.

So now there were half a dozen Russian wolfhounds sprawled over the rugs and sofas of the Avengers Tower common room.

Clint Barton was sleeping – at last – under a gray blanket of snuffling fur. One hound was serving as a pillow, and incidentally something of a face-cleaning service. Clint was going to be sticky when he woke, but entirely blood free. Another dog had collapsed over his feet, huffing at the occasional unconscious kick but refusing to actually move out of range. [Given the weight of the dog and the thickness of his fur? No impact was likely reaching ribs anyway.] The third and fourth had the middle, making Barton something of a speed-bump in the path of anyone wanting to reach a dog.

Tony Stark was writing a check under the glare of a very insistent Russian general. [Because while thirty million American was not worth dying over – it was still worth collecting.] Stark was also muttering something about “no dogs – when did I say there could be dogs – did I say there could be dogs” but since both Pepper Potts and the dogs were ignoring him? No one else felt obliged to pay attention either.

Natasha Romanova – ever pragmatic – was grilling steaks. Given the quantity? The general had some hope that at least one of them might be for him. It might even – another hope – not be poisoned. Well, most probably not. It hasn’t been his decision to experiment on the dogs. He wasn’t in charge of the scientific operations, only of base security. All things considered, he felt safe. If the Black Widow wanted him dead? He would not be breathing.

Bruce Banner was taking blood samples and ear swabs, dictating science babble to Darcy Lewis as she stepped gingerly between paws and over tails. He was also muttering, and there was a tinge of green at the corner of his eyes. That last convinced the general that yes, under the circumstances his superiors would consider the transfer of half a dozen lab animals [even very very important lab animals] to the American research lead investigator to be a far better option than risking said American research lead dropping in to *H*U*L*K*S*M*A*S*H* the Russian facility. In terms of actions likely to set back research? Being pulverized by giant green rage monster was one of the more … forgive the pun… impactful.

Thor was playing fetch with the largest of the hounds – tossing Mjolnir in long arcs for the beast to follow. Given the hammers ability to navigate down halls and around doors? It made for an exciting game. Most times the hammer came flying back with the dog hanging – teeth clenched – from the leather wrist strap. The occasional slam of tail into architecture? That didn’t seem to spoil the game at all. At least, not from the players points of view. [Pepper wasn’t looking so pleased about the structural damage, but she hadn’t actually ordered them to stop. That was – by Avenger standards – a win.]

Steve Rogers was sitting at the edge of the mob, holding the smallest pup [the one that only reached waist height] on his lap. One hand scratched slowly behind a gray ear, while the other slipped the animal bits of meat. He smiled at Tony, who was still muttering something about “who designed these dog collars – I could design a better dog collar –I could…” and said, “He likes me. I think I’ll call him Bucky”.

And that – was that.


	2. It's a Dog's Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I don't know when to stop.

Elizaveta, the largest wolfhound, was a dominant bitch. Which she meant only literally. [If you were thinking personality, the biggest bitch in Stark Towers was Stark himself. Four paws down – no debate.] Elizaveta, unlike certain ego-tripping monkey-boys, was the pinnacle of mental and physical perfection.

Trained by Natasha Romanova she quickly mastered the arts of disguise and infiltration. That large poodle waiting by the Parisian café? Her. [Perm] That idiot black lab bouncing up to the park bench? The one with designated as a HYDRA dead-drop – not that the spy sitting there knew that SHIELD knew. Again – her. [Hair extensions. OUCH!] That ragged mutt begging for scraps outside the Bogotá bar? Better check your pockets. [Yep, drug-runner – it wasn’t your crotch she was sniffing.]

Stark Tower was her home. The Avengers were her family. SHIELD, however, was her world. And Nickolas Fury was her god.

Teamed with Maria Hill, ‘Bet’ hunted bandits in the hills and ran down traitors in the halls of power. She could sniff out deception (literally) and her sharp eyes missed nothing. If she saw the world in black and white – or rather in precise and functionally-categorized shades of exact gray? She was a borzoi. It was her nature. And in her business – it was a strength.

Someday, she expected, she would replace Maria Hill on the command side. Until then? They worked well together. 

They had, one could see, so many things in common.

~!+@+!~

Ivan, the lead male, left Avengers Tower as soon as he was fully grown.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the Avengers- both as a team and as his humans. It wasn’t that he didn’t love them. He did. It was just that … he never really fit in to that pack. Ivan considered himself a working dog – a proletarian – a dog of the people.

Agent Sitwell understood. He’d come up though the ranks himself. So when Ivan wanted to transfer over to SHIELD, taking a post as a junior agent (grounds security) the human had lent a hand (literally) with the paperwork.

Ivan had trained as a drug dog, and then an explosive search Specialist, and finally persuaded Fury to pay for tracking school. (Yes. Borzoi were sight hounds. Weren’t you monkey-types supposed to have evolved beyond stereotyping?) Usually the school enrolled the human and added the dog. Ivan couldn’t see why it shouldn’t’ work out just as well the other way around? 

Ivan was, of course, right. He took on field training with the same dogged determination he brought to every duty, He graduated at the top of the class. Make that the top of every class ever trained. He found an equal partner in a Canadian mounted police officer seconded to Chicago. Together they were the team of legend. 

They always got their man.

~!+@+!~  
.  
Petier, to the contrary, was the playboy of the pack. 

While the others took on the world, Petier clung to Pepper Potts. 

A dapper figure in well trimmed gray fur and flawlessly tailored blue ‘service animal’ coat; he was photographed travelling at her side from club to restaurant to elite resort. They owned the front page of every tabloid. Pepper and Petier getting mani-pedies (in his case pedi-pedi) in Peking. Pepper and Petier sporting matching diamond dog collars at Canes. Pepper and Petier having massages in Matlazan. 

Be it a beach party in Malibu or a cocktail reception in Manhattan, ‘Prince’ Petier was always one step to Pepper's right. At night, he curled at the foot of her bed. While she worked, he snoozed under her desk. 

Unless, of course, that workday was disrupted by HYDRA or AIM. Then? Occasionally – only occasionally – he found it incumbent upon him to rip out a human throat.

~!+@+!~

 

Dmitrii was officially Bruce Banner’s therapy dog – and he took that office as a sacred trust. 

Yes, it had started as something between a convenience and a joke. Get the paper, wear the blue coat, follow Banner around and lick his nose if he starts turning green. Ha. Ha. If that was all the humans wanted? Well, they should have told Dmitrii. They also should have arranged something else for him to do while he trailed Banner from hospital to lab to medical school. 

Dmitrii, as mentioned, took his task seriously. Within a year, he was volunteering as a Therapy Dog at the VA. By year two, he had a regular practice rotation, the same as the human therapists. Bruce might need him – these men and women needed him more.

When he hit the limit of all that ebooks and practical experience could teach he enrolled in an on-line college program. In three years he had his B.S. in Psychology. Two more and he had his M.S. in Trauma Therapy. 

He’d have gone for a doctorate, but was stymied by the need to defend his thesis in person. [He was a smart dog. He could do a lot. He still couldn’t talk. Stark was working on a computer voice system, but that had limitations.] No matter. He’d never been intended for the laboratory side of the business. [Except at birth. They did say a psyche student’s first patient was always themselves.] Dmitrii was content to be SHIELD’s best - make that the world best – expert in treating identity conflict, body dismorphia, and cultural readjustment issues.

~!+@+!~

Svetlana (nicknamed Bucky) was Steve’s darling. She went with him everywhere. Museums. Galleries. Art classes. So many art classes.

Later, she had some minor professional success herself, getting positive reviews in Art Digest for a series of monochrome abstracts. [Yes, She lacked hands. No, it wasn’t a problem. You would be amazed how expressive a tail can be.] She considered herself a conceptual artist, designing site-specific installations pushing the boundaries of texture and scent.

Since art paid no better for the canine than for the hominid artist, she had a ‘day job’ as a yoga coach for the SHIELD non-combat personnel. [And yes, she’s heard the one about Downward Facing Dog. So please – don’t.] She also worked as a secure (and very discrete) baby sitter when SHIELD’s high-profile guests came with families.

Svetlana – unlike her siblings – never took fieldwork. She was an artist and a pacifist. And she’d bite anyone who said otherwise.

~!+@+!~

Mikhail stayed with Clint Barton. He was not, however, Hawkeye’s side kick. Nor his spotter. Nor was he a ‘hearing-ear-dog’. [Hello. Borzoi!]

He was a pet. 

Period.

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©KKR 2013


End file.
